


What's Your Number?

by liamsfreckles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Love/Hate Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, What's Your Number AU, and i am really bad at tagging things, artsy!zayn, basically zayn has a lot of ex boyfriends, frenemies to lovers, i guess?, it's a slow burn, musician!liam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9103213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamsfreckles/pseuds/liamsfreckles
Summary: He switched to the word document, glaring at the blank page. He let his fingers hover over the keys for a moment, before typing out a list. He spent a good twenty minutes, attempting to remember them all…But, typing them out wasn't the hard part.It was counting them."Nineteen?" He murmured. He tapped his finger against the screen as he counted again. "Fuck."--aWhat's Your NumberAU





	

**Author's Note:**

> Don't get super excited (or do, I won't stop you!) - I am putting this up though it is nowhere close to being done. It's still one of my favourites and I do hope to finish it at some point. Maybe in the new year!! x

The early morning sun filtered in through half-closed blinds, creating warm, lazy patterns over Zayn’s bare back. He inhaled deeply, his face buried into his pillow – not wanting to move, but knowing he’d have to get up first: before his boyfriend woke up, anyway.

He opened one eye slowly, adjusting to the light in the room, before glancing to the sleeping form next to him. His back was facing Zayn, the covers pulled right up to his ear, and he could hear the faint rumble of snores that passed through parted lips. Erik always slept deeply – combination of sleeping pills and chamomile tea with way too much milk and honey would do that to a person – which sort of annoyed Zayn to no end. There were nights where he was lucky to get a full four hours of sleep.

He flexed his toes slightly, before stretching his body out, trying to pull the sleep from his muscles. He shifted, as quietly as he could, and slid from the bed, groaning a little at the feel of the cold hardwood floor against his bare feet.

He padded to the ensuite, grabbing a t-shirt from a chair as he went, and shut the door behind him.

This was his routine.

He sighed. He knew he had about 10 minutes before Erik would rouse, so he shucked his boxer-briefs and pulled open his shower curtain before stepping into his tub. He turned the hot water on first, letting it splash over his feet for a moment before turning on the shower, adjusting the temperature as the water cascaded over his mop of dark hair. Erik hated the cut he’d gotten: buzzed all along the sides, but long on top. Long enough to pull into a bun or ponytail when needed. He also hated the fact that Zayn had gone and gotten another tattoo, and that he still drank 2% milk…

Come to think about it, Erik seemed to hate a lot of things.

Zayn was becoming a pro at showering entirely in less than six minutes. He could scrub, lather, and brush his teeth before the steam could fill the bathroom. He towel dried his hair, brushing long fingers through the inky locks before slipping back into his boxers and sliding the MTV t-shirt over his head. He took a quick glance at himself in the mirror, frowning slightly at the dark circles under his eyes – nothing he could really do about that – and slipped back into his bedroom.

Erik had still not moved.

He climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up, settling his head back down onto the pillow, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment, just as Erik stirred, mumbling incoherently and stretching his long body out beside him.

“Morning.” Erik croaked, eyeing Zayn carefully as he pushed the duvet down his chest. 

Zayn cracked open his eyes, lips quirked into a half-smile. “Morning yourself.” 

Erik gave another incoherent mumble – something like _you’re far too pretty ‘n the mornin’-_ as he kicked the covers away and rolled off the bed with a thud. 

Zayn sat up and watched his boyfriend stumble to the bathroom with nothing on, scratching at his lower belly. He opened his mouth to say something, but the door slammed shut before he had a chance.

He blinked a few times. “I’ll get breakfast started then, yeah.” He said to no one in particular.

-

Zayn was really not a morning person. Or a breakfast person for that matter. He was a strong cup of tea and the latest _The Wicked and The Divine_ comic type of person. But Erik: Erik was a ‘ _full English with black coffee and do not talk to me until I have these things_ ’ type of person – so Zayn would make sure his fridge was always stocked with the proper makings for him.

He hated the smell of bacon.  
(He fucking hated bacon)

Erik emerged from the bedroom some 20 minutes later, bike wheel and helmet in hand, his knapsack slung over his shoulder, a slight frown on his face. “I gotta get going.” He murmured, as he strode through the kitchen and brushed by Zayn; whose back was to him while he stood over the stove.

“Oh? I made you breakfast. With that proper bacon you like…” He called out, just as Erik put his hand to the door.

There was a thud of objects, and Zayn smiled.

-

He sat across from Erik while he ate, shovelling the eggs into his mouth, which made Zayn cringe slightly, even though he kept a smile on his face. “So, I was wonderin’ – it’s me sister Doniya’s buck and doe this weekend, and it would be nice if maybe you’d come along with me: finally introduce you to me family...” He queried, tilting his head slightly.

Erik chewed thoughtfully, his eyes watching Zayn as he picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite. “Your family?” He asked around a mouthful of food. “Isn’t that a bit…don’t you think we’re moving a bit fast here?”

Zayn tried to control his facial expression. “We’ve been seeing each other for six months.” he said, quirking a brow. “They keep asking about you. You’re like an enigma. Or someone I’ve made up.”

There was a pause. Zayn swore he could hear Erik swallow.  “I didn’t think we were that serious.” He said, picking up his mug. “I mean, meeting family is a pretty big deal.”

“I thought things were getting pretty serious when I let you rim me the other night.” His expression was deadpan as he stared at Erik, whose maw was open – gawking slightly. “But I couldn’t see your face, so…”

-

Zayn leaned against the doorframe to his apartment as Erik adjusted the strap of his knapsack on his shoulder. It weighed a little more now: Zayn had pushed his t-shirts, albums and a god-awful canister of coffee beans into his arms. There was no need for an additional explanation. Zayn was tired of not feeling anything other than annoyance lately, and the sex wasn’t that good anyway.

Erik gave him a lopsided smile. “You know…if you ever just want to, like – hook up?” He shrugged his shoulder casually. “Just give me a call.”  
  
Zayn’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “Oh. That’s uh…very generous of you.”

He watched as Erik made his way down the first flight of stairs, waiting until he was out of sight to heave out a heavy sigh and press the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What the fuck am I doing with my life?” He groaned, dropping his hands to his sides.

He’d not heard the door from the flat across from his own open, so was a little taken back when an almost naked, brown haired, brown eyed man blinked curiously at him. The man was holding his newspaper in one hand, and a very small towel around his waist with the other. The stranger grinned slightly, and Zayn flushed pink before he stumbled backwards into his flat, closing the door behind him.

He swore he could hear the ghost of a chuckle in the hallway.

-

Zayn worked as a creative director for a big-to-do advertising agency in the heart of London. A job that had come with years of hard work and dedication- even if his heart wasn’t in it. He was brilliant at what he did, but what he longed for was his own art studio and gallery. He’d gone into advertising to appease his family, who believed that ‘painting and drawing would not be a fulfilling life’.

He longed for the day he could sell his artwork, and make his family proud. But for now: the agency would do.

He sat on the train, his headphones drowning out the early morning crowd of suits and students, all making their way to their various destinations. Drowning out the thoughts of Erik and the casualness of the end of their relationship. He didn’t feel upset, or frustrated- and he had wondered – albeit briefly -if he should be concerned.

Maybe he’d try being single for a while.

(Or, for as long as he could handle his mum asking why he hadn’t found a good man so that she didn’t have to worry so much about him.)

He got off at Bond Street Station, following the masses towards the exits. He took the steps from the tube two at a time, the strap of his rucksack slung over one shoulder, a sweater tucked over the top his bag. He wore a light blue, short sleeved button down – his ink on prominent display - and a pair of navy blue tailored slacks. On his feet were a pair of dark brown oxfords, which he’d remembered to polish before leaving the flat this morning.

( _“You don’t want to get hit by a car wearing unpolished shoes, do you?”_ an ex-boyfriend had once asked him)

He blinked into the sunshine, reaching into his front pocket for his phone to check the time. He still had a good 15 minutes before work, which meant he could duck into the café close to the office for his usual. He was about to tuck his phone away when it buzzed between his fingers. He smiled slightly at the name that flashed upon the screen, tugging his headphones off before swiping his thumb across to accept the call.

“Like clockwork, you know that.”

“Please tell me yer not at the office yet, mate.”

Zayn grinned. “Hello, Niall – I am not at the office yet.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind picking me up a dark roast and one of them sammies, would ye? I’m runnin behind and Claude’ll have me bollocks if I…”

“Niall.” Zayn groaned. It was too early to try to understand him with his thick Irish lilt.

“Yer a nectarine. I’ll get ye back at lunch.”

“Peach.” Zayn chuckled.

A pause. “What?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. I’ll be there in fifteen. We have to talk.”

Before Niall could respond he pressed the ‘end’ button and shoved his phone back into his pocket as he rounded the corner towards the café. They always had a sandwich board outside with horrible tea-related puns, but it was quality drinks, great snacks, brilliant service – and it reminded him a bit of back home.

He made his way up to the counter and ordered the coffee and breakfast sandwich for Niall, and a large cup of Yorkshire tea for himself. The girl behind the counter turned ten shades of pink and her eyelashes fluttered slightly as he slid the money into her outstretched hand, and he chuckled. If only she knew…

He made it to the offices with five minutes to spare, and was greeted by Niall pacing out front, chewing on his thumbnail absentmindedly.

“You are not going to have a thumb by the end of the day, I reckon.”

Niall spun around. He was all bleach blonde hair and eyes as blue as the sky on a clear summers day, and that tinge of pink that ghosted over pale Irish skin. He dropped his hand and smiled tightly. “You don’t need to talk to me because you know I am being fired or summat?” He asked, taking the coffee and sandwich from Zayn’s outstretched hand.

“What? No. You’re not getting fired.”

Niall exhaled. “Well ye never know. I fought with Claude about fuckin’ colour swatches the other day and I thought he was going to toss me out a window.” He shrugged, opening the door for the two of them. “So if that’s not it: what did you need to talk about?”

“Erik and I broke up. This morning, actually.”

Niall turned thoughtful, falling into step with Zayn as they made their way to the lifts. He pressed the button, then turned to him. “And you’re sure you just didn’t make him up to get everyone off your arse?”

“Fuck you, Horan.”

Niall cackled, eyes dancing. “I’m kidding. I am sorry to hear that.” He paused.  “Though: you don’t look very sad at all?”

The lift pinged and the doors opened, and Zayn stepped in first, followed by Niall. “No, I guess I am not. He thought we weren’t serious – didn’t want to come to Doniya’s stag and doe on the weekend. Which – reminds me – she’s still waiting on your response to her invite, you dolt.”

The blonde groaned and brought his coffee up to his lips. “Shite: knew I forgot somethin’. Yeah, I’ll be there. I don’t need ta bring anything, do I?”

Zayn shook his head. “Just a few quid for some games and raffles.” He grinned, reaching over to flick Niall in the ear.

Niall ducked away, muttering a slew of swear words, before looking serious. “I really am sorry to hear it – about you and Erik, I mean. Though, I coulda told ya that it wasn’t going to work out for you two way before now.”

“What makes you say that?” Zayn quirked a brow.

“Bastard didn’t even want to meet me. What kind of person doesn’t want to meet me?”

The two of them had been hired around the same time 4 years ago. Niall was an account executive who now ran his own group within the agency. They’d caught on like a house on fire, sharing a love of ciders, music, and rugby, and Zayn always admired Niall for his ‘happy-go-lucky’ spirit. There was rarely a moment that the lad from Mullingar wasn’t smiling, or trying to make others smile. Of course there were days where Zayn was happy to be left alone, but Niall was always there for a quick chat or a few pints when needed.

Their offices were held on the upper floors of an old building that had been renovated a few years back. All open concept with lots of glass, brick and beautiful artwork. Even one of Zayn’s pieces hung in the front reception area.

They parted ways: Niall to an accounts meeting, and Zayn to his office to sign off on some pieces and finish up some of his own. He smiled at Lorelai, his assistant, as she looked up from her desk. “Morning Zayn – don’t forget you have that storyboard meeting with the Wembley people at 2.” She smiled, picking up a few messages, a stack of mail and some magazines, handing them off to him. 

“Thanks, love.” He murmured, tucking everything under his free arm. “I’ve got a few things to finish off this morning- so just take messages for now? And please don’t forget to take a break today.” He wagged a finger at her, and she blushed, nodding slowly. She was an intern, and so eager to do everything – but often forgot to take a moment for herself. Zayn remembered those days, and he had burned out quickly. Last thing he wanted was for her to get sick.

“And maybe I’ll let you sit on the Wembley meeting, yeah? You can take notes.”  
  
Her eyes lit up. “That would be brill, Zayn. Thank you.”

He winked at her and made his way into his office, dumping all his stuff onto his desk, before sliding his rucksack off his shoulder and onto his chair. It was a nice space – floor to ceiling windows, a black bookshelf filled with art books, comics and a few awards he’d won over the years. 

(Something his mother was insistent on. He, on the other hand – cringed every time he saw them.) 

His favourite spot – however - was his art desk: situated right next to the window, overlooking the London skyline. It’s where he felt the most at home.

He opened up his laptop and waited for it to power on, drumming his fingers against a magazine that Niall had left him with a bunch of sticky notes poking out. He opened it up, idly flicking through the pages, admiring some of the advertisements, and recognizing some of the work done by some of his colleagues. 

He stopped upon an article: the font way too big and bold to be missed. His dark brows knitted together and he bit the inside of his cheek as he read:

 **WHAT’S YOUR NUMBER?  
** ‘ _The average number of lovers a man will have in his lifetime is 10.5…_ ’

Zayn’s eyes widened. “No way. 10.5? That seems…low.” He murmured, picking up the magazine to read it a little more:

_In 2014 we conducted a survey of 200 men in the UK. 89% of those surveyed boasted that they had slept with 8.5-10.5 partners, while 7% of men admitted to 5 or less. That means a whopping 4% of our men surveyed had slept with more than 11 partners. So what does_ **_your_ ** _number say about you?_

_Experts say: the more partners you’re with – the less chance you have to find the right one for you._

Zayn gave out an awkward chuckle. He was certain that he’d slept with more than 10 people – men and women – and had relationships with a fair amount of them – even if they were brief. Their reasoning was flawed: multiple lovers didn’t make you any less of a human being or incapable of love.

He closed the magazine and picked up his tea, his brows still knit together in thought. “Bollocks.” He muttered to himself over the rim of his cup before taking a sip.

He shifted his bag off his chair and onto the floor, before taking a seat. The more he thought about it, the more it gnawed at his insides: what if it did mean he had less chances of finding ‘the one’? Most people believed that he cared very little for romance or true love, but as he got older, he craved it. 

He could be romantic. He could find true love. He could.

He fished his glasses from his bag and slid them on, logging into his laptop. He opened up his email and a new word document. He read through his emails first: responding to any that were of immediate importance. He shook his head at an email Niall sent him about a cat surrounded by money and how he had to send it to ten more people or he’d never see wealth. “Idiot.” He muttered with a grin.

He switched to the word document, glaring at the blank page. He let his fingers hover over the keys for a moment, before typing out a list. He spent a good twenty minutes, attempting to remember them all…

But, typing them out wasn't the hard part. 

It was counting them.

"Nineteen?" He murmured. He tapped his finger against the screen as he counted again. "Fuck."

"Well if you insist."

He jumped a little and scowled at Niall, who grinned wide, pearly whites on display. "How long have you been standing there?" He asked, pulling off his glasses.

"Not long." Niall gave a casual shrug. "What's nineteen? Please tell me you're not looking for younger...."

Zayn groaned. "No, you dick." He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. "Nineteen is...."

"Is...?" Niall stumbled into the room, eyebrow quirked.

"Theamountofpeopleivesleptwith. Ok?"

"The fuck was that? I caught none of that."

"IVE SLEPT WITH NINETEEN DIFFERENT PEOPLE, OKAY?"

There was a silence that followed that set Zayn on edge. That was until Niall burst out laughing. So loud that Zayn’s assistant looked up from her desk with a bemused expression.

"Mate." Niall gasped, both palms now resting on his desk, his cheeks blotchy from laughing. "You're kidding, right?"

Zayn regretted being friends with Niall. "No, Ni- not kidding."

"That is..." Niall straightened up. "Kind of impressive, mate. But what brought this on? You don't have kids you don't know about...do you?"

"No." Zayn paled. Fuck, he hoped not. Not that he didn't want kids: just not right now. He pushed the magazine towards Niall, who picked it up, brow furrowing.

Niall read quietly while Zayn tapped his fingers against his laptop. Niall looked up and tossed the magazine back down onto the desk. "So?"

"So...?"

The blonde flopped down into the chair opposite Zayn’s. "So what if you've slept with nineteen people? Could be 2 could be 100: wouldn't take away from who you are as a human being, Zayn." He pointed out. 

"But what if it's true?" Zayn asked, his voice strained. "What if I don't find someone because of this...number?"

Niall laughed. "You will. Everyone eventually does. Don't worry about it so much, Z." He said, getting back out of the chair. "Anyway, I will be sitting in on the Wembley account meeting and after we will go for beers for lunch. And don't give me that look: we're kings around 'ere."

The look on Zayn’s face was dubious, and Niall cackled loudly as he bounded out of his office, leaving him all alone with his thoughts.

Niall was partially right. Of course the number of people he slept with didn’t diminish him as a person – that was silly thinking – but, if this ‘study’ from Cambridge University was **right** , and his numbered lowered his chances of finding true love, it certainly made him feel uneasy.

He closed out of the document and pulled up his work emails again, determined to forget about names and numbers: at least for a while.

***

The rest of his morning went by in a blur, with people in and out of his office asking for advice and sign offs on projects, along with he himself trying to finish up his storyboards for his meeting with the Wembley Group. By lunchtime he was itching for a smoke, and Niall was itching to leave the building.

They sat on the patio of a little French bistro, just two blocks away from the office. Niall ordered up two pints, despite Zayn’s mild protesting, and they sat, content in each other’s company, while they waited for their food.

Zayn’s mind wandered to his list. The one that now plagued him – and would surely send his parents to an early grave. Out of all their children: he was sure he was the worst. Okay: he was being slightly dramatic. His parents were very proud of him and everything that he had accomplished, but in his current state, he was very certain he was the worst child in his family.

Zayn had come out as bisexual to his parents when he was sixteen years old. At first, his father had been slightly off with him (as he had expected) but his mother had hugged him immediately and supported him right away.

 _“Love who you want to love, sunshine.”_ She had whispered to him one night as he curled up in bed, eyes red from crying. _“Your father will come around, eventually- as he loves you very, very much.”_

As time went on, and he brought home his first boyfriend- his father began to learn and understand Zayn a little more. He would ask Zayn questions (some of which had Zayn blushing), but he knew his dad was trying, and that was enough for him.

As years passed, he found that he did enjoy the company of men more than women, and became openly gay when he was 23 years old. 

He was brought back to the present when something hit him directly in the forehead. He blinked twice and glanced down into his lap, where a packet of butter now sat, and up at Niall, who was grinning like an idiot, his round sunglasses way too big for his face.

“You’re not still thinking on that fuckin’ list, are ye?” 

Zayn sighed, picking up the packet and flicking it back at Niall, who deftly moved out of the way, laughing.

“No. Yes. Sort of.” Zayn admitted, brushing off his slacks. “Me baba would kill me if he knew how many…”

“Yaser wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone you, mate.” Niall cut him off, picking up his pint glass.

This was true. He wouldn’t, but that was of little comfort to Zayn at this moment.

Their server came by with their lunches, and Zayn smiled up at her when she placed his down in front of him. He watched the blush creep up her cheeks and the way she licked her lips, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, as Niall kicked him under the table.

She placed Niall’s food down and he turned his face up towards her with a grin. “Ta, love.” 

Once she was gone, Niall picked up his burger and shoved it into his face, groaning happily. “Listen. Numbers don’t matter in the grand scheme of things, and yer gonna have to fuckin’ get over this obsession, otherwise it’s going to consume you.” He said around a mouthful of food.

Zayn frowned, picking up a chip and dunking it into the small ramekin of ketchup. “You say that because you’ve slept with less than 10 people, Ni.” He muttered, popping the chip into his mouth. “And found the love of your life shortly after.”  
  
Niall snorted. “And you will, too. Why not try…you know…being celibate for a while?”

Zayn blinked at him, and Niall’s face turned red, lips mashed together as if he was trying not to laugh.

“Fuck you, Horan.”

“It was just a suggestion.” Niall choked out as he put up his hands in defence.  “But I stand by not obsessing about this. It’s not healthy, mate.”

Easy for Niall to say. He’d found his wife-to-be about 5 years ago, and the two of them were going to be married in just over 3 weeks. Laura was a lovely woman- she’d even tried to fix Zayn up on some blind dates ( _2 of which were on his list…_ he cringed inwardly). 

Niall, for all his craziness and silly moments – was a completely different person with Laura. He was whole. Zayn wanted that. With a man. He picked up his sandwich and took a large bite, chewing thoughtfully, before swallowing. “What if…” He eyed Niall when he groaned. “What if someone I was already with is the one? I mean, that’s how you found Laura…”  
  
“But we dated for ages, broke up, and then found each other again- there’s a difference.”

“Is there, though?” Zayn countered. “I mean, Louis was my first love. If he was still single, maybe we can rekindle…”

Niall held his hand up, stopping him. “Louis Tomlinson is now one of the best English midfielders and a highly sought-after footballer.” He said. “Do you really think he’ll remember you?”

Zayn hesitated. _No_ …. “Yeah, why not?”

Niall cackled, shaking his head. “Sometimes, you’re too fuckin’ much, Zayno.”

-

It was past 8 PM when Zayn finally got back to his apartment. He groaned lowly when he saw that the elevator was out of order, and trudged up the stairs. His hair was pulled back into a topknot now, and the sweater he’d brought earlier had proved to be a good idea, as it had cooled considerably when he’d left work.

He made it to the 6th floor and went about fishing for his keys from his case. 

“Good evening, 6C.”

He whipped around quickly to see his neighbor from across the hall standing in his own doorway. This time however, he was fully dressed. A pair of dark denim jeans and a lighter blue button down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. On his feet were a pair of dark brown Docs, and his hair was done up with pomade it seemed, as it was curly yet stiff – in almost a Mohawk-like style.

Zayn dropped his keys, swearing under his breath as he bent down to retrieve them. “Hello, uhm…”

“Liam. Liam Payne.” The boy smiled at him, soft crinkling around his eyes. 

“Right. Yeah.” Zayn mumbled, standing up straight once more. “That was you this morning with the tea towel?”

Liam grinned. “That was you breaking up with your boyfriend this morning?”

Zayn felt his cheeks go warm. He forgot how old this building was, and how thin the walls were. Liam laughed at the expression on his face.

“Shit happens. I’m sure you’re better off, anyway. Guy sounded like a douchebag.”

That brought a small smile to Zayn’s lips. Erik _was_ a douchebag. He should have realised that when he’d asked Zayn about possibly covering up his tattoos or laser removal…on their third date.

He frowned. He missed a lot of signs, apparently.

“Cheers, mate.” He murmured, jingling his keys a little. “Long day an’ all – “

“Li-Li, are you going to take me out to dinner, or what….?”

There was a look of sheer panic on Liam’s face and Zayn’s eyes went wide, watching as a tall blonde man practically curled himself around Liam’s strong frame.

In a split second decision – and he wasn’t sure why he was doing this – Zayn cleared his throat. “Hey Leeyum – remember you said you’d help me out with that wiring issue?”

Liam looked confused for a moment, before his features smoothed out. “Oh! Shit. Yeah. Uh…” he untangled himself from the blonde and turned to them slightly. “Sorry, Mark – I’d promised I’d help him out a few days ago. I will call you, ok?” He said, turning on the charm. It took everything in Zayn’s power not to laugh out loud, so he turned to unlock his door.

There was a small whine from the blonde and a brief murmuring between the two, then the sound of footsteps making their way down the stairs, and just as Zayn opened his door, Liam was at his side.

“Thanks mate…I didn’t expect him to hang around so long.” Liam shrugged. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t even get your name….”

“It’s Zayn. And what are you doing?” He asked as Liam went to come into his apartment.

“Helping you with your wiring iss…oh.” Liam looked sheepish. 

Zayn snorted. Was he for real? “Got a lot to do tonight, yeah.” He said, turning slightly. He was tired, he was craving Chinese takeaways and a very big glass of red wine.

Liam pouted, but took a few steps backward, his hand over his heart. “Could be doing me….” He teased, before turning on his heel. “Nice to meet you, Zayn!”

Zayn balked, watching Liam laugh wholeheartedly as he slipped back into his apartment. He dragged himself into his own home and shut the door behind him, sighing heavily as he locked up and flicked on the lights. He hung his bag up on the coat rack, and tossed his keys into the bowl that sat on a table.

His apartment was a little slice of heaven.

He had taken a lot of time and care to make this place his own. He’d fallen in love with the building and the neighborhood the first day he’d moved in, and as the years wore on, he’d created his happy place. 

The walls were all exposed brick, and the ceilings were high with stripped wooden beams. A lot of his artwork and photography hung throughout his place, along with some of his favourite pieces from other artists. The floors creaked when he padded through towards his bedroom, but he believed it’s what added to its charm.

He flicked on the light to his room and sighed heavily. He’d quite happily fall in to bed right now, but he knew he had things – pressing things – to do. He toed off his shoes and pushed them to the side, before pulling off his sweater and tossing it into his hamper.

His bed was king-sized, all creams and charcoal greys. He’d not made up the sheets before he’d gone to work, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted a pair of bright blue boxer shorts – belonging to Erik. He huffed out a breath and made a mental note to burn those later, as he opened up his closet to find more comfortable clothes.

Once changed, he wandered to his kitchen to find a bottle of red wine and the flyer for his favourite takeaway place. He picked up his phone and put his order through, laughing a little when the lady on the other end told him that he needed a ‘frequent order card’.

He eased down onto his worn brown leather couch with a sigh, setting his glass of wine down onto the coffee table. He eyed his laptop, knowing he shouldn’t do it, but yearning to do it anyway. It was like there was a neon sign above it, willing him to turn it on. He chewed on his lower lip fingers flexing and relaxing for a few seconds before he leaned forward and tugged it open. The screen glowed bright: a photo of him and his sisters from their last holiday weekend together, and it made him smile a little as he typed in his password to get into his computer.

He opened up his favourite browser and clicked on Facebook, waiting for it to load. He grabbed his glass of wine and swallowed half of it in one go, cringing as it burned a little on the way down, making his eyes water. If Niall knew what he was doing right now…

Out of all the people he’d been with, just over half had been men. He was sure that one of the ones he’d been with before, he could be with again (though he had very much scratched Erik out of that equation), and maybe even start a life with.

He put down the glass and hovered his fingers over the keys, before he typed in the first name he could think of:

**Louis Tomlinson**

He blew out a breath when he saw how many ‘Louis Tomlinson’s there actually were. Tons of fan pages about the ‘best midfielder England had seen in a long time’, and a few that were…not Louis.

Louis was blue eyes as bright as the sky, and sharp cheekbones. He was thin fingers that played lightly over Zayn’s skin while they curled up on a twin bed, talking about hopes and dreams. He was shaggy brown hair and trackies…

And he probably wasn’t on Facebook. Typical.

“On to the next one.” He muttered, picking up his glass again. “For now.”

4 hours, half his Chinese food and a bottle and a half of wine later, he’d been no closer to finding out about any of his potential suitors. He closed his laptop and finished off his glass of wine before falling back onto the couch, pulling the elastic from his hair. He shook it out and wrapped the band around his wrist. “I’m going to end up a spinster.” He said aloud to no one in particular, blinking up at his ceiling. “With cats.”

-

He woke up the next morning with a serious case of dry mouth and many text messages from Niall begging him for coffee on his way to work. He glanced at the time and nearly fell off the couch when he realized that if he was not out the door in five minutes, he’d very much be late.

He stumbled to his bathroom to brush his teeth, forgoing the shower altogether by pulling his hair up once more, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. If his boss didn’t kill him, Niall would due to lack of coffee.

He thumbed through his clothes, quite happy about the fact that it was Friday and therefore casual. He pulled out a pair of black skinny slacks, a black t-shirt with the misfits logo splayed across it, and one of his favourite sweaters. He dressed quickly, slid into his Docs, and was gathering his bag, phone and keys by the door with a few seconds to spare.

He had just locked his door when Liam emerged from his apartment – in the same tea towel from the morning before. This time there was an apple in his mouth, and his mess of hair sat flat against his forehead. “6C!” He mumbled around the apple, before pulling it from his mouth. “Zayn, right? Looks like you need help with your lock – let me help you with that…” 

Zayn watched, his face slightly shocked as Liam went over to his door, his semi-naked body (and toned: not that Zayn was looking) sidling up against him. “Can I stay in your place for a bit? Just until…fuck. Just until _he_ leaves?” He whispered, dark browns imploring. 

Zayn balked. “What? No.” He snapped, stepping back. “I’m late for work – not my problem that you’ve decided to sleep with half of London.”

“C’mon…you’d be helping me out. A lot. I didn’t know he was going to be naming our children before breakfast…” Liam pleaded, bouncing a little. “Pleaaaaaaase?”

Zayn had every right to tell Liam to stuff it and suffer the consequences of his sexcapades, but he rolled his eyes and unlocked his door again. “Just…keep your balls off everything. Please.” He sighed, knowing he was for sure going to regret this later.

Liam thumped his shoulder. “You’re a true hero. I owe you, big.”

Zayn waved him off and practically flew down the stairs and out the building to hail a cab, pushing the thought of Liam and his predicament out of his mind. He threw himself into the first one to pull over, and gave the address to his office, typing a quick ‘ **you’re on your own** ’ text to Niall before resting his head back against the seat.

-

Zayn sat at his art desk, staring blankly at a white piece of paper, a felt-tip marker twirling slowly between his fingers. He’d made it to work with a few minutes to spare, and had to resort to shitty office-tea and a granola bar he was quite happy he’d stuffed into his desk drawer a few weeks back.

Niall had poked and prodded him about what he’d done last night to have him so grumpy, but all he could muster was a low ‘Fuck off Ni…’ He felt so despondent: he didn’t want to date any more, but he did want to find his one true love. And fuck wine. Wine was the devil.

When lunch time hit, Niall popped his blonde head around Zayn’s open door, holding a white towel. Zayn turned his head slightly and bit back a grin. “Its fine, come in.” He sighed, twisting around on his stool to face his best friend.

“You look a little more human, but I cannae be sure.” Niall hedged, blue eyes twinkling. “What on earth did you do last night?”

Zayn cringed. “Was doing, ah – research. And had a bottle and a half of wine while doing it.” He shrugged, picking at a piece of lint on his sweater. “Fell asleep on me couch like I was back in Uni.”

“You’re a right mess, Malik.” Niall cackled, shaking his head. Niall tossed the towel onto the back of a chair and leaned up against his desk. “You up for lunch? We can try that new Indian spot that opened up around the corner…” he hedged, wriggling his eyebrows.

Zayn brushed his palm against his jaw, which was sporting a dark patch of hair. “I’ll buy.” He said, slipping off his stool. Besides, he was going to have to butter Niall up – and he knew the way to the Irishmans heart was through his stomach. And he was now craving a good spicy curry to help soak up his minor hangover.

“Perfect!” Niall crowed, jumping up. “Me 2 PM meeting got pushed back to Monday, so we can take a long one.” Niall was the epitome of ‘Casual Friday’ – wearing stone-grey skinny jeans, a v-neck t-shirt and a red plaid shirt fully unbuttoned. All that was missing was a ball cap and a pair of sunnies, and Niall would be a proper frat boy.

Zayn chuckled and grabbed his phone, turning it on out of habit to check the time. Oddly enough, there was a picture message from a number he did not recognize. “Hang on…” He murmured to Niall, tapping out his password to open the message.

It was Liam.

It was Liam in his bathtub, full of bubbles.

It was Liam in his bathtub, full of bubbles, holding his ipod.

His cheeks flushed crimson as he typed out a response: **I told you that you could hide out until he was gone – not make yourself at home!**

The chat bubbles popped up right away. **He stayyyyed sry. Nice playlists, thooo. U rly like Lionel Ritchie**

Zayn shook his head and refused to respond. Stuffing the phone into his back pocket before turning to Niall, who bouncing from foot to foot, blissfully unaware of what was going on. “C’mon, Ni – I’m quite ready for today to be done with.”

-

Zayn had ordered up all his favourite dishes for the two of them to sample, and stuck with soda water, making a face when Niall asked if he wanted a beer. He hadn’t realised how hungry he truly was until the food came.

He explained each dish to Niall, spooning some onto each plate as he talked. He had just picked up some warm naan bread when someone cast a long shadow over him. 

“Zayn Malik. As I live and breathe.” Came a familiar voice.

Zayn blinked and turned his face up to the person now standing beside their table. Confusion turned to surprise, and he gawked a little. “Harry?”

Harry gave a lopsided grin, a dimple in his cheek forming. “You remembered.”

How could Zayn forget? Harry Styles was second on his list: they’d dated for a while in college, but it was never considered ‘serious’ by either of their standards. From what he knew, Harry was the menswear editor for Vogue UK, though as Zayn gave him a once over – he wondered why he wasn’t in front of the camera.

Harry was long and lean, wearing tight black jeans, and a floral button down shirt, with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and half he buttons undone, showing off impressive ink. His hair was much, much longer now than it was when they were at school, hanging in soft brown curls around his shoulders. 

It was the shoes, however, that Zayn was most impressed with: a pair of shiny gold ankle boots that caught the light and made it seem like the younger man was wearing sunlight on his feet.

Zayn pushed back his chair and got up, running a hand over the back of his head, smiling back. “Of course I did.” He murmured, moving in for a hug, which Harry accepted.  “It’s good to see you, mate.” 

Harry squeezed him tightly, then pulled away just a little. “You too – goodness, it’s been what? 4 years?” 

Zayn laughed. “Probably. I’m shite at keeping up with people.”

“Well you should check your Facebook, or get twitter.” Harry drawled, his accent like honey. His eyes flickered over to Niall, who looked slightly put out that he was out of the loop. “I’m Harry, Harry Styles.” He reached over to extend his hand to the blonde.

“Shit – sorry, Ni: this is Harry. We…dated in College.” Zayn stumbled over his words, cheeks going pink as Niall quirked a brow, but took Harry’s hand in his own and shook it firmly. “Harry – this is Niall Horan: we work together at the agency, and he is my best mate.”

Niall grinned at that. “Nice to meet ya, Harry. Care t’join us for lunch? We just started.”

Zayn’s eyes went wide, but he caught himself before Harry turned back to him. “I don’t want to impose….”

“No! You won’t be imposing.” Zayn said, his voice cracking slightly. “It would be nice to catch up.” He pulled out the chair beside his own and waited for Harry to take a seat, before sitting down as well, not missing the opportunity to kick Niall under the table.

Harry slouched into the chair and pushed his curls out of his face. This Harry Styles was definitely different to the one Zayn knew way back when – but the feelings were still there. It warmed in his chest like that first sip of good whiskey. He portioned out some food and set the plate down in front of Harry.

“Thanks, Z.” Harry said fondly, placing a napkin on his lap. “So – four years to catch up on. What have you been up to?”

Zayn picked up his water and grinned slightly. “Work for an advertising agency – creative side. Niall here is manages some of our biggest accounts.” He replied, inclining his head towards the blonde. “Other than that: a few murders here and there, nothing too crazy, y’know…”

“Always so awkward, Zayn.” Harry laughed, tearing off a piece of naan, before scooping up some curried chicken with it. “But I am glad to hear you are doing well. Always thought you’d become an artist, though?”

Zayn cleared his throat. That had been a sore subject for him – mostly because his mum and dad always told him that art didn’t always have a future, and to stick to the known: the agency was money, and it was safe.

“I like it at the agency.” He shrugged, slanting his gaze to the brunette. “Besides: this coming from the kid who said he was going to be a botanist.”

“I did grow some good weed.” He mused, his voice warm. Green eyes met brown, and Zayn swallowed hard. He’d forgotten about the late nights in his shitty apartment in second year, hanging off the balcony – high as kites – singing along to Arctic Monkeys and The Stone Roses, talking about how they’d get the fuck out of limbo and do big things, or the way Harry’s muscles trembled and flexed under his lips and gaze…..

“So, Harry,” Niall cut through his moment. “You seeing anyone?”

He kicked Niall in the shin. (totally by accident, though)

Harry looked between the two of them and grinned, dimple popping up on his cheek. “Why, are you interested?” He asked Niall, who then turned a brilliant shade of red. 

“Hazza, don’t tease poor Niall. He has no idea…” Zayn chuckled, trying to hide his own piqued interest. If he wasn’t seeing anyone – what was he going to do? Ask him on a date right then and there? Harry broke up with him near the end of 3rd year- just before exams. Zayn had been wanting to go next level, and Harry? Harry hadn’t been there yet. There was no animosity between them- no anger: they’d simply been on different pages.

Maybe they could be on the same page now.

Harry picked up his water glass. “Well, Zayn – no. I am not seeing anyone at the moment.” He murmured, and his green eyes sparkled when he turned his gaze to Zayn. “My schedule doesn’t really allow it these days. If I am going to give time I don’t have to a relationship, I’d be lying to my partner – and that just wouldn’t be fair.”

Zayn bit down on his tongue. Fucking Harry Styles. They had been _good_ together, but Harry was the type that was going to make sure the relationship was _equal_ and if it wasn’t – it wasn’t going to be worth his time – or Zayn’s.

Zayn opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of Harry’s mobile cut through his words with a loud shrill. Harry looked apologetic as he pulled it from his pocket and glanced down at the screen. “I hate to do this, because really it has been too long, and I would love to catch up, but…” he waved his phone around dramatically. “Duty calls. Thank you for letting me sit in on your lunch, and – I’ll give you my card, and…you know: do what you wish with it.” 

Harry stood up and pulled a card from his jacket pocket and slid it into Zayn’s open hand, before leaning down to press his warm lips to the edge of Zayn’s jaw. “Still wish you would get in front of a camera, Z. Right heartbreaker you are these days.” He murmured, before pulling back.

Zayn grinned, pressing his hand into the top of his thigh. “You too, Styles. Come by work soon, yeah? Wouldn’t mind a client like you on our profile….”

Harry snorted. “Like you could afford me.” He said affectionately, squeezing Zayn’s shoulder before winking at Niall. 

He and Niall watched Harry weave back through the crowded patio, and once he was out of view, Niall whistled low. “You know, Harry Styles could probably convert me.”

“Fuck off, Ni.” Zayn laughed, shaking his head. “You know how that’s not how any of this works.”

“I’m dead serious! How’d you let THAT one get away?”

“We were young.” Zayn shrugged. “Wanted different things. Seems we still want different things.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, finishing up their plates. Zayn’s mind was working a mile a minute. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing looking up his ex-boyfriends: especially if they turned out like Harry. 

His mind was made up. It was going to be one of his previous boyfriends, or nothing at all.

Niall asked the waiter for their bill, and to their surprise, Harry had paid for their meal. Now that was typical Harry Styles – the one Zayn had fell in love with. He remembered him saying once: ‘ _Be nice to everyone, and do it five minutes early_ ’, and he smiled a little, running his hand through his mess of hair. 

Niall groaned. “You sure you don’t want to go back to shagging Harry?” 

\--

The elevator was still out of service when he got home from work, and he huffed out a breath. He was regretting living on the sixth floor right about now.

When he made it up to his flat, he could hear his TV on, and he frowned. Had he left it on in his rush to get out of there this morning? He slid his key into the lock and turned the knob as he unlocked the door, leaning his shoulder against it, pushing it open.

Liam was sprawled out on his couch, wearing a pair of black sweatpants that were full of holes, and a dark grey t-shirt with a batman logo across the chest. His hair sat soft and curly atop his head, sans product, and made him look impossibly younger than necessary.

Zayn cleared his throat, and Liam glanced from the TV, over to where he stood. “Zayn!” He exclaimed, sitting up. “Welcome home.”

Zayn could _feel_ his eye twitching. “Thanks…” He said slowly, pulling his bag from his shoulder to hang up on a hook. “What are you still doing here?”

“Well, seems this one decided to stay a little longer than I predicted.” Liam said, cupping a hand to the back of his neck. At least he looked repentant. “I also figured I owed you at least pizza and beers for letting me crash here - if that’s okay with you?”

Zayn tugged his jacket off and hung it up as well, before turning back to Liam, who had a puppy-like, expectant look on his face. He bit his lip and sighed through his nose. “Alright. Lemme get changed though, yeah? And if you’re ordering from Libretto, the only acceptable pizza will be margherita.”

“Brilliant. I have beer over at my place. I’ll go grab that, order us up a pizza, and be back in ten.” Liam replied, skipping towards him. “Meet me in the hallway. And, wear comfy clothes.”

Zayn watched Liam bound from his apartment, and over to his own, and he shook his head, closing the door behind him. FAR too much energy for Zayn right now – but if he was getting a free meal and some drinks out of this, he could stay awake for a while longer.

He got changed into a pair of sweats and a long sleeve red Henley, and found a pair of slippers to put on. He pulled his hair up into a topknot, and grabbed his keys, glasses, and phone from the table in the foyer, before going to meet Liam in the hallway.

Liam was just ending a phone call when Zayn came to stand in front of him. In his other hand was a case of beers, and Liam smiled again. His bubbliness was intoxicating: for some reason, it seeped deep into Zayn’s bones and he couldn’t help but to smile back.

“Alright – pizza is on its way.” Liam said, tucking his phone into his pocket. “You sure you’re gonna be warm enough, bro?”

Zayn laughed. “I’ll be fine. Why? Where are you taking me?” He asked, quirking a brow.

Liam grinned. “You’ll see.”

-

Zayn and Liam stood on the roof of their building, shoulder to shoulder, each holding a beer. Zayn was admiring the view from this height: all the beautiful buildings and lights, the London skyline in the distance. The pizza had come and was sitting on an old wooden table that had been brought up here, along with a couch, and a lot of white Christmas lights.

“I thought we weren’t allowed up here.” He commented, slanting his gaze to Liam. “Didn’t you get that memo?”

Liam grinned, not taking his eyes off the view in front of him. “I wrote that memo.” He said, bringing the beer to his lips. “I come practice up here sometimes, and it was hard to do with people coming up all the time. So…” He shrugged, taking a sip of his beer before running the back of his hand across his mouth. 

“That’s impressively sneaky.” Zayn said with admiration. “No one’s questioned it?”

“Nah. Me dad was a cop, so I’ve picked up a few things. Nothing illegal, like – but….” He turned and wandered over to the table, flipping open the pizza box. “Just don’t tell anyone, yeah? You’re the first person I’ve brought up here, kind of like it to be that way.”

Zayn mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key, before he followed Liam over to the couch, snatching up a piece of pizza on the way. “So you didn’t want to be a cop?”  He asked, folding his pizza in half before taking a bite.

Liam shook his head, a crease forming between his brows as he frowned slightly. “I’m not…too intelligent, I guess? I’m more musically inclined. Destined to struggle.”

“Have to be pretty intelligent to create music, I reckon.” Zayn shrugged. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” 

“And what about you? Was admiring the work in your flat today – pretty sick stuff, man. Is that what you do for a living?” Liam asked, taking a bite of his pizza. Some of it ended up on his cheek, and without thinking about it, Zayn reached out to brush the sauce from his skin with his thumb.

“Oh, no – that’s just…a hobby. I mean, I love it – but it would never pay the bills.” Zayn laughed, licking his thumb, not noticing the way Liam’s eyes widened. “I work as a creative lead for an advertising agency.”

Liam cleared his throat. “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

“It’s a good job – crazy busy, and manic most days, but it pays well and I seem to be good at it? I won’t complain.” Zayn mumbled, taking a long pull of his beer. It wasn’t his love – and he was a firm believer in being passionate about the work you did, and not just be good at it – but he was also a product of his parents, who taught him that hard work – not heart – brought success.

“If you say so…” Liam sang, leaning his head back onto the couch.  

They sat in comfortable silence, eating their pizza and drinking Liam’s beers. It was the first day in at least a week that Zayn didn’t feel like a tightly coiled spring. He enjoyed it. He’d even forgotten about his quest to find his old ex boyfriends until…

“So…that guy you were seeing – why was he such a douchebag?”

Zayn slanted his gaze towards Liam, who looked genuinely curious. He smiled a little bit. “Ehm, mostly he just…didn’t want me to be me? Like, was always trying to change things about me. But didn’t label our ‘relationship’-” he put air quotes up around relationship, and Liam chuckled. “- as serious. So, yesterday I sent him off with a good luck and a good riddance.”

“Isn’t the whole point of being in a relationship to be yourself – but with someone else? That’s what me mum always said, anyway.” Liam queried, the look on his face thoughtful. 

“Says the guy whose longest relationship is probably with that slice of pizza.”

“You wound me, Zayn.” Liam covered his heard with his free hand. 

They grinned at each other. Zayn really wasn’t the type to judge another for their sexual appetites. If it made you happy – it made you happy. Hell, he’d slept with 14 men and women over the course of time….

“Leeyum,” he turned to the brunette fully, eyes suddenly bright. “I have a proposition for you.”

“If it involves blowjobs: I’m in.” 

“Shut up, you idiot – and listen, yeah?”  Zayn groaned as sat up a little straighter. “I need to find some people – you apparently need to escape some people. I think we could help each other out. If you and your detective skills help me find my ex boyfriends, I’ll let you crash at my place so you can escape yours.”

“Do you have herpes? Is this why you’re trying to find your exes? That can’t be a fun conversation to ha-“

Zayn smacked his arm. “I just think maybe…one of them might be worth taking a second look. I’m tired of the bullshit that comes with dating, and, you think I’m daft, don’t you?”

Liam laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, and he tossed his pizza crust into the now empty box. “Not daft, I just think you’re probably making too much of this. Sometimes dating someone new is the best part.” He shrugged. “But, if it means that much to you, and it means I can crash on that sick couch from time to time: I’m in.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Liam held up his fist, and Zayn bumped his own to Liam’s. This was good: he now had someone to help him do the legwork, instead of trying to figure it all out himself. Niall was probably going to kill him if he knew he was going through with this, as well as his parents- but he was willing to take that chance. 

Liam pulled the last two beers from the case and easily twisted off the tops, before handing one to Zayn. 

“Let’s find you an ex-boyfriend to be your boyfriend…again.”

\--

Zayn wasn’t okay with his sister getting married.

That was a lie: he was, of course. He was over the moon that Doniya found someone that she was so happy with. He was mostly grumpy about the fact that she was getting married, and he was going to have to spend tonight listening to friends and family members asking him _why_ he hadn’t settled down yet.

Niall cut the engine as they were parked outside of Zayn’s parents’ place, where they’d been idling for about five minutes. Zayn rubbed his palms up and down his thighs, glancing at the house that seemed to be brimming already.

“Christ, you’d think it was you getting married, Z.” Niall mumbled, checking his hair out in the rear-view mirror. 

“I was supposed to be bringing Erik.” Zayn replied, licking over his dry lips. “Just mentally preparing for the onslaught of questions this will bring.”

“You gonna tell ‘em you two broke up?”

“Not tonight. It’s Doni’s night – I’d be an asshole if I made this all about me.” 

“Well, quit dawdlin’, then – I’m in need of your mum’s cookin’ and a glass of scotch with Yaser and you’re holdin’ me up.” Niall groused, before punching Zayn in the shoulder. Zayn watched him climb out of the car and dust off his outfit, before he leaned back in to pick up his cap.

Zayn followed suit, frowning slightly at his best mate. “Why on earth are you wearing that hat?” He asked as Niall put it on top of his mess of blonde hair.

“I’ll have you know that Vogue UK said that these were going to be in style for men this fall. If Harry Styles…”

“Ni, you really need to get off the Harry Styles thing.” Zayn cut him off, holding his hand up, making Niall cackle. 

Zayn’s sister insisted that it would be a casual affair, so Zayn opted for black jeans, a white Henley and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He wore a pair of dark brown oxfords (because last thing he needed was commentary on his lack of love life AND poor choice in footwear), and his glasses, and left his hair down (some things he wouldn’t let go).

Niall, on the other hand, looked like someone out of Newsies.

Niall locked up the car and made his way to Zayn, who was still scowling at him. He slung an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and squeezed him. “Oh don’t have a strop, Z. One day you’ll understand fashion, like I do.”

They made their way up the driveway, and Zayn grinned when he saw Waliyha standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “Mum’s gonna be right pissed at you for wearin’ that.” She smirked, quirking a well-manicured brow.

Zayn and Niall stopped at the base of the steps. “What do you mean? Doni said casual.”

“You know mum.” Waliyha shrugged, tapping her fingers against her hips. It was crazy how much Zayn was reminded of his mother in this instance. He kind of wished his sisters stayed young forever. “Hi, Niall.”

“Told you I’m the favourite!” Niall grinned, unwound himself from Zayn and took the steps two at a time to wrap her in a hug. 

Zayn shook his head and climbed the stairs slowly, waiting for the two of them to stop teasing him about everything. Waliyha jumped into his arms, and he hugged her tightly, pressing a warm kiss to the top of her head. “Brat.” He murmured into her hair, earning him a pinch.

“Jerk.” She replied, squeezing him once more before letting him go. “Come on in, you two – baba’s in the backyard manning the grill, mums in the kitchen, and Saf has had far too much sugar.”

They followed her into the house, and Zayn visibly relaxed. It was like all the stress, all his thoughts and anxieties just melted away when he was home. It was the scents coming from the kitchen, the sound of laughter and chatter, the general aura of _love_ that made him feel good.

Safaa came sliding into the hallway from the living room, as if on cue. Zayn beamed at her and she squealed before wrapping her arms around him. “Alright, Saf?” He chuckled, rubbing small circles at the top of her back. 

“Mum’s gonna hate your outfit.” She mumbled into his chest and his brow furrowed.

“Ok so what is wrong with my outfit, exactly?” He huffed, tugging on the ends of her hair before letting her go. Niall had already wandered towards the kitchen – leaving him pinned.

“You know mum.” Waliyha and Safaa said in unison.

He groaned and made to reach for both of them, but they laughed and skittered out of the way, off into different directions. He shook his head and smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt as he made his way through the house and towards the kitchen. 

The house was loud and warm – his parents were always happy to entertain big get-togethers. Mostly because his mum loved to cook for a crowd, and his da enjoyed being a gracious host. Their house was not big, but not small either: it was decorated with tons of photos of Zayn and his sisters as kids, right through to when he’d graduated Uni. 

(His parents even hung his diploma up in what used to be his old bedroom. Made him cringe every time.)

He rounded the corner and stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, a smile playing on his lips as he watched Niall lean against the island in the middle of the crowded kitchen while his mum doted on him, fixing him up a plate of curried lamb and tikka chicken, along with jasmine rice and steamed vegetables. She glanced up, and her eyes fell upon Zayn, and his smile grew wider.

He pushed off the frame and rounded the island, just as she opened her arms to him. He buried his face into her hair and hugged her tightly, breathing her in. “’Lo, mum.” He whispered, squeezing her a little.

“Hello my beautiful sunshine.” She murmured against him, before leaning back. She placed her hands on his cheeks, stroking along the top of his cheekbones. She assessed his outfit and made a small noise, which made him roll his eyes. “Where’s Erik?” She asked, peering behind him.

Zayn shifted a little in her embrace, glancing to Niall, who shrugged at him while biting into a piece of lamb.

“Ehm, he’s away, for work. Wished he could be here.” He cringed inwardly – it wasn’t like he enjoyed fibbing to his mum.

“I was looking forward to meeting him.” She sighed, patting his cheek. “Your baba, too.”

“I know – next time, yeah?” He said, as light as possible. He pressed his warm lips to her cheek, and stepped out of her embrace. “Where’s Doni?” 

“Out back, making sure the games are going well.” She replied. “Hopefully you two brought a lot of change…”

Niall groaned and the two of them turned in his direction. “I knew I forgot something.” He said with a mouth full of food. “Z, ye can spot me a few Euros, yeah?”

Zayn shook his head at his best friend and pat him on the shoulder before he weaved his way through the two of them and out the back door and into the backyard.

It was bathed in soft light from white twinkle lights and a few large pillar candles strewn about. There were folding tables everywhere with various card games on each- and a few people playing at them. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, itching for a cigarette, but knowing he’d have to wait until much later on to actually get one. 

He spotted his father at the barbecue, with a few of his uncles and cousins hovering around. He could hear them arguing about the best way to grill the lamb chops without drying them out, and he chuckled, shaking his head. That was one argument he’d lose at, since he was a shite cook and could burn water if it was possible.

“Thought you could sneak by me, bhai…”

He swung around to see Doniya standing behind him. She was a vision in a beautiful white slip dress, and a white cardigan, with her thick dark hair piled up on top of her head. He stepped towards her and she cupped his face, squishing his cheeks. They were always close – even when they were teens and yelling profanities at each other from different rooms, even when they were kids and she poured glue into his hair when he wouldn’t share the scissors…

“Doni,” he murmured, resting his hands over hers. “You look smashing.” 

“Yeah?” She beamed, eyes lighting up. “Mum wasn’t too thrilled about it being a casual thing, but you know mum.”

Zayn snorted, curling his hands around hers and giving them a squeeze. His mother was an amazing woman: there was no denying that – but as the kids got older, they were all a little harder to control, and definitely their own characters. He and Doni had to draw the line two years ago at formal birthday parties.

“Place looks great, though. I have a feeling I am going to lose a lot of money tonight.” He said, tilting his head towards the casino-type games. “Or was that your plan all along?”

“That was Caleb’s idea.” Doniya said with a dark chuckle, releasing his hands. “I was all for just putting bowls out so people could dump money into them.”

“Speaking of, where’s the man of the hour?” Zayn asked, looking around the backyard.

“Inside with his groomsmen, I assume.” She shrugged. “Where’s Erik?”

Zayn cleared his throat. “We broke up this week. Don’t tell mum just yet, yeah? Not ready for the additional heartache.” He said lowly, not knowing just _where_ his mother could be.

“Well, not to sound like mum and baba, but – when are you going to settle down? Don’t think I don’t know that you want all this, bhai.”

Zayn slanted his gaze. He knew he had to be honest with her: she was really one of the only ones - with the exception of Niall – that was going to tell him what they were thinking, and not cut corners.

(And call him out on his bullshit.)

“I don’t know, D. Dating is complicated these days. But I am working on it.” He mumbled, rubbing a finger against his eyebrow. “But since I’d replied for 2 guests for your wedding, I best find a date...”

“You better! Otherwise mum and the aunties are going to be all over you.” She nudged him, smiling slightly. “And me, but I am less annoying.”

“Only marginally.”

“Dick.” She hissed playfully, flicking his ear.

“Brat.” He laughed, pushing her away. He missed this. 

“Love you, Z.” She giggled, wrapping him up in a hug. “I’m gonna go mingle – I’ll come find you in a little bit, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” He whispered, pressing warm lips to her cheek. “Love you too, D.”

He let her go and watched as she practically skipped away, her aura positively glowing. He was happy that she was happy: she and Caleb were another one of those couples that had dated for a while, broke up, and then got back together when they realized that there was no one else they’d rather be with. Doni was more of herself when she was with Caleb, and he was forever grateful to his future brother-in-law for that.

He turned on his heel and wandered over to where his father was still talking animatedly to his uncles. Zayn swiped a bottle of beer from an aluminum tub filled with ice and twisted off the top, before he came to stand next to Yaser.

The two of them always enjoyed _quiet_ moments. Zayn had definitely picked up that trait from his father. When he was a boy, he remembered sitting with him – not talking, but just enjoying being in each other’s presence. It is why he valued his quiet time now as an adult.

His father was the calm in the storm that was their family, and his lips quirked a little at that.

Yaser’s hand came up to curl at the back of Zayn’s neck, squeezing gently. “You been keeping well, beta?” 

“Always, baba.” Zayn smiled, leaning into his fathers’ touch. “Smells good.”

“You can thank your mum for that.” Yaser smiled back, squeezing Zayn’s neck once more before dropping his hand. “If only I could get the vultures to stop circling so it could make it inside…”

Zayn took a pull of his beer before setting it down on the table. “You know that’s not going to happen.” He grinned, licking over his lips.

They stood in comfortable silence as Yaser turned the meat on the BBQ once more, before closing the lid. “So – when were you going to tell me that you and Erik had broken up?”

“How did you…” Zayn asked, colour flooding his cheeks.

“I’m your father, Zayn. I know everything.” Yaser chuckled, quirking a brow. “And I could hear your conversation with Doniya.”

Zayn groaned. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Baba…” Zayn started, but Yaser held up his hand.

“I won’t tell your mother – you can deal with that on your own.” Yaser said quietly, turning to Zayn. “However, I see it in your face, and even before tonight – you haven’t been happy, beta. I know things are going well at work, and we are very proud of you for that – but you aren’t happy _here_.” Zayn’s breath hitched when Yaser pressed a finger over his heart. “And anyone as lovely as my son – deserves all the happiness in the world."

Zayn could feel his throat tightening up, and moisture prickle the corners of his eyes. It was not often that they spoke of emotions – but when they did, his father seemed to know right where to hit him. He often believed he hid it pretty well. Apparently not.

His father lifted his hand to pat his cheek, just as his mum popped her head out the back door.

“Ay, can you and Zayn bring in the meat, love? Doni wants to get started on speeches…”

Yaser grinned at Zayn for a moment, before turning to Trish with a little wave of his hand. She smiled brightly at the two of them, then ducked back into the kitchen.

“Be _happy_ , beta. That’s all we want for you, even if mum says it in more words.” Yaser murmured as he started to pull the food off the grill, placing it onto a giant platter. Yaser chuckled, a glint in his eye. “Well, a lot more words.”

Zayn nodded slowly, picking up the platter. The words were lost in his chest, but he leaned up against his father for a moment, before following him back into the house.

\--

“I think she was countin’ cards.”

“Ni, she’s…nineteen. I doubt she even knows what counting cards means.”

It was the day after the buck and doe, and Niall had invited himself over to Zayn’s apartment to watch Premier League matches and have a few beers. It wasn’t unusual for them – though Zayn didn’t really follow football the way Niall did – to spend their Sundays together.

Niall had lost a fair bit of money to Safaa last night playing Blackjack.

(He was still a little salty about it.)

(Zayn also didn’t want to talk about the fact that Safaa was _nineteen_. He wasn’t sure when that happened.)

“Besides,” Zayn continued when all he got from Niall was a _huff_. “The money is going to the couple, anyway. It was for the greater good.”

“The greater good.” Niall mumbled as he pushed his glasses up on his nose and rested his head back against Zayn’s leather couch. “Still think she cheated.”

Zayn laughed and turned his attention back to the TV. He wasn’t particularly paying attention to this match – his mind was on the things he and his father talked about. How Yaser was proud of him and all that he accomplished on a career level – but how he knew that Zayn was unhappy on a personal level.

Had he been so transparent?

His phone buzzing in his lap cut through his thoughts, and he glanced down as a message popped up from Liam. He picked up his phone and typed in his password, chancing a glance to Niall – who was engrossed in the match, sitting forward now with his elbows on his knees, muttering obscenities under his breath like incantations.

He glanced down to the message:

**I found some info based off wat u gave me the other night. Adam Markovitz was easy to find. Works at Coach and Horses. Grab pints 2nite? Check it out?**

Zayn nibbled on the corner of his lip. Adam wasn’t too high up on his priority list, but they’d had a good time in their somewhat brief relationship together. He’d been a bartender then…and he cringed. Maybe he was a manager there? Or he owned the place? He typed out a quick response.

**You’re quick! Could do a pint and see if he’s the one. ;) ;)**

Liam’s reply was almost instant:

**U r buyin. Can’t wait 2 see this! Offer still stands tho: u culd just go on a date w/me!**

Zayn snorted into hand, which caught the attention of Niall – who quirked a brow in his direction. When Zayn shook his head, Niall shrugged and turned his attention back to the telly. What was nice about being friends with Niall ( _sometimes_ ) was that he knew when to put his nose into things, and when not to. This was one of those times.

Zayn pursed his lips, rereading Liam’s message, before he replied:

**In your dreams, Payne. I’ll meet u in the hall at 8 PM!**

“Who is Payne?” Niall asked, and Zayn jumped a mile. Niall had shifted closer while Zayn had been in his own little world, and was peeking over to Zayn’s phone.

“Jesus, Niall. Am I going to have to put a bell around your neck?” Zayn snapped, turning off his phone quickly. “For someone so vocally loud, you’re very stealthy.”

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment and ignore your sass,” Niall grinned, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “But you didn’t answer my question: who is Payne?”

Zayn exhaled through his nose and tossed his phone onto the coffee table. “Me neighbor across the way. Decent bloke. He’s helping me out with some wiring issues in my bathroom, and I promised a pint as payment.” He shrugged. It wasn’t totally a lie – just…a real stretch on the truth. He hated lying, especially to Niall – but he wasn’t really ready to have this discussion with him, either.

“I see.” Niall replied, sitting back. He glanced to the tv for a long moment, before turning back to Zayn. “You shagging him?”

“I – what? No. Niall, I just got out of a shite relationship AND am having a bit of a sexual crisis. We aren’t shagging.”

“Sexual crisis?” Niall laughed. “Is that what we’re callin’ it now? Is this about your number and how you don’t want to raise it?”

“I regret telling you things.” Zayn groaned, pressing his hands into his eyes. “No, it’s not about my number. Not really. I just don’t feel much of anything towards anyone right now, that’s all.”

He got up off the couch and wandered into his kitchen to grab a bottle of water. That part WASN’T a lie: really, he didn’t feel anything towards anyone. Part of him did want to see if he could ignite a spark with a previous boyfriend, part of him wasn’t sure what was going to happen. It sat heavy in his chest, like a paperweight. 

He just wanted to find love and be happy, and forget the number even existed.

“You know I’m jus’ teasin’ you, right?” Niall called from the couch, lips forming into a pout. “Just don’t like seeing you so…down. You deserve to be happy, mate.”

“Oh jeez, not you too.” Zayn laughed, picking up an extra water bottle and tossing it to Niall. “You sound like my baba. Look: I will be fine. I always am. I just need…time. That’s all.”

Niall hummed and flipped the water bottle in his hand as Zayn came back into the living room and sat down once more. “Honestly, Ni – don’t worry about me. Worry about your shite team going down 2-0 at the moment.” He snorted, nodding towards the telly.

“Cock arse bollocks shit.” Niall hissed. “Fuck.”

\--

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a lazy haze, with Niall not pressing Zayn anymore on the subject of his love life, or lack thereof. Zayn was happy for the distraction that Niall provided, given what he was going to do tonight.

Was he really going to do this? Go through _all_ his ex-boyfriends – to see if he could date one of them again? Had he finally snapped? His family would lose it if they knew, and Niall would probably toss him off a bridge. Part of him was genuinely concerned for his safety if they all found out.

The other part of him was willing to give it a try. At best, he rekindled a few friendships – like Harry – and at worst, he would be reminded why he wasn’t meant to be with any of his exes. Either way, he really had nothing to lose at this point, and he was desperate enough to go through with the whole thing. He was just glad he had a third party in Liam that would be objective and not judge him.

Too much.

Niall left him early evening to get home to his fiancé, leaving Zayn to do some laundry and have a long hot shower and a bite to eat before he met Liam. He wandered his flat, wearing nothing but a pair of threadbare sweats while he waited for his last load of darks to dry, eating leftover spicy chicken tikka and rice that his mum packed up for him (along with at least a week’s worth of lunches), while mentally preparing himself for tonight. 

He even started on another art piece.

It was something he’d been sitting on for a few weeks – a piece for his sister and her soon-to-be-husband, as a wedding gift. It was a large canvas: and currently it was just an outline, but it was more than he’d done in a while, and now that he had ideas and colours in his head, he knew he could finish it within the week after work.

He was so focused on his artwork and the sounds of Thelonious Monk filtering through his apartment that he didn’t realize the time until someone knocked on his door.

He jogged to the front door and opened it with a flourish, to find Liam standing on the other side, dressed in black skinny jeans with a white button down tucked in, showing off the brown belt looped through his jeans. For a moment, Zayn was reminded of Prince Eric in The Little Mermaid, and slightly dazzled by the man in front of him. 

“Hey mate – you know what time it is, yeah?” Liam chuckled, taking in Zayn’s appearance. “Or did you plan on going to the pub like this? I certainly don’t mind, but….”

Zayn blinked and glanced down to his watch. “Shit. Is that really the time?” He exclaimed, a sudden wave of panic washing over him. “Let me – just come in for a minute and I’ll change and we can go. Sorry, sorry…” He continued as he turned and bounded into his bedroom, leaving Liam laughing as he shut the door behind him.

“You’ve got paint on your cheek, just as an aside.” Liam called from the living room.

Zayn groaned as he tugged off his raggedy sweats and tossed them into his laundry hamper. He’d wanted to shower properly, but he wasn’t going to have time. He slipped on a pair of acid washed jeans and a basic white shirt. He rifled through his closet for his new favourite jacket: a blue camouflage bomber jacket (something he’d splurged on after a nice bonus on a project) from Louis Vuitton. He then padded to his ensuite to run a brush through his hair before knotting it atop his head, and scrubbed the matted stripe of orange paint off his cheek with a warm facecloth, glancing at himself in the mirror with a critical eye.

“Wow. If this is how you scrub up for ex boyfriends, I can’t imagine what you look like for new ones.”

Zayn whipped around and poked his head out of the bathroom to find Liam sprawled out across his bed, a copy of the latest The Wicked and the Divine in his hands, flipping idly through the pages.

“I like to look nice.” Zayn replied, defensive. “No crime in that.”

Liam snorted, still flipping through the pages of Zayn’s comic. “What is this comic, anyway? I like it so far.”

Zayn flipped off the light in his bathroom and made his way back into his bedroom, retrieving a pair of white sneakers from his closet. “The Wicked and the Divine? It’s a fantasy comic that’s about mythological deities and pop culture? It’s sick, man.” He replied, sitting down on the bed to put his shoes on. “You like comics?”

“Oh yeah. Just finished up the first volume of Batgirl of Burnside? My sister got it for me and it was pretty great. Might re-read Batman Year One…” Liam said, sitting up and settling next to Zayn. 

“You can borrow those if you like. I’ve finished them up and I’m waiting on the new one now – so if you want something new to read, they’re pretty ace.” Zayn nodded to the comic in Liam’s hand. “Would be kind of nice to chat to someone about them. You wouldn’t be disappointed, like.”

Liam grinned and set the comic down on Zayn’s bedside table. “Sounds brilliant. S’nice to find another comic book fiend.”

“Fiend is putting it mildly.” Zayn laughed as he pointed out his bookshelves that lined almost an entire wall. The majority was comics, though there were some of his favourite books thrown in. He’d never apologize for loving what he loved – and comics were a love.

Liam let out a low whistle as he brushed his hands on his thighs and stood up. “You might regret letting me hang out in your apartment.”

“Let’s go.” Zayn snorted, pushing Liam out of his way. “You can oogle the goods later.”

\--

Coach and Horses was a Soho institution that mixed old with new, and in recent years become a hot spot for young professionals for after-work drinks. It wasn’t really a place Zayn knew– as he usually ended up going to places that Niall recommended, or drinking a glass a wine at home – but Liam seemed to be in his element as soon as he walked in the door.

It was warm and cozy, with threadbare carpeting and small tables with groups crowded around them, pints in hand. There was someone playing piano off to the side, while a bunch of people sang along off key. 

It was busy for a Sunday night, but he and Liam managed to find a table across from the bar. Zayn sat down on the stool and glanced around, craning his neck.

“You sure he’s working tonight?” Zayn asked over the music. 

Liam nodded, picking up the drink menu. “My friend Katie works here – he picked up her shift tonight.”

A pretty redhead with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks came to their table, all warm smiles and kind eyes. She asked them if they’d like anything to drink, and Liam ordered them up two house pints, while Zayn kept his eye out for Adam.

A few people parted from the bar, and that’s when he saw him.

From this distance – not much had changed about Adam, from what Zayn could see. Still sandy-blonde hair done up with a little too much wax, high cheekbones, and a killer smile. He was wearing a black t-shirt with the pubs logo emblazoned on the chest, and had a white bar towel over his right shoulder.

He was talking animatedly to another server – a blonde girl who was leaning over the bar, as if to be that little bit closer to him. When Adam and Zayn had started ‘dating’, Adam had been in his ‘experimental’ phase, as he put it... 

_‘I don’t even know if I like men.’  Adam admitted as they sat in a café together one chilly January evening. ‘Well, I do – I am here with you, aren’t I? I just…this sounds stupid.’_

_Zayn laughed around the rim of his mug, taking a careful sip of his tea before setting it back down on the table. ‘Not stupid. You can’t know for sure unless you try. Some people know right away: some don’t.’_

Zayn was brought back to the present when the redhead set the two drinks down on the table. 

He and Liam picked up their pints and clinked them together. He was just about to take a pull of his own when Adam reached over to the girl’s ear and produced a coin. A faint ‘does this belong to you, babe?’ could be heard over the noise, and Zayn’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“I forgot to mention: he still practices magic.” Liam murmured over the lip of his pint.

_‘Does this belong to you?’ Adam grinned as he held the coin in front of Zayn’s face. He had somehow produced it from thin air, and it was the greatest thing Zayn had seen all day._

_Zayn laughed, reaching out to snatch the coin from Adam’s pinched fingers. ‘That’s brill. How did you do it? You have to teach me.’_

_‘Ah, magicians never reveal their secrets, Zee.’ Adam replied, a mischievous look in his eyes. ‘Besides, I like the way your eyes lit up when I did it. Makes me want to snog you seven ways to Sunday….’_

Zayn tipped his glass to his lips and started to drink deeply, not pausing to breathe until the pint was ¾ of the way done. He set the glass down on the table and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “I think I’m good here.” He gasped, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

“But…what…” Liam’s brows shot up towards his hairline. “What about Adam? Or my pint?”

“Finish it if you want, but I think I’m good.” Zayn repeated through his teeth, catching the eye of their server and waving her over.

Liam drank half of his pint in one go, wincing as he put it down on the table as Zayn paid the girl, murmuring something about keeping the change. He stuffed his wallet back into the back pocket of his jeans and slid off the stool, before turning on his heel to weave through the crowd to the front door.

Once outside, he took a cleansing breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. The fuck was he thinking? This was the worst idea he had ever had. Not only was Adam working as a bartender, he was using the _exact same pick-up lines_ he’d used 2 years ago. Zayn pulled the elastic from his hair, raking fingers through it, just as Liam emerged from the pub, looking sheepish.

“I’m sorry – it did show up in his paperwork. He’s even got a website: super sexy magic dot com.” Liam mumbled, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

“Fuck. He would, too.” Zayn groaned, pressing hands into his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Leeyum. I’m starting to think it was all a bad idea. Adam is the exact same as he was then – an out of work magician who sleeps til 2 PM, bartends until 3 AM, and keeps your coin.”

“So? He also may have changed in those two years. You’re going off a thirty second assessment. You mean to tell me you wouldn’t have fun with him for one night, for old time’s sake?” Liam asked, gesturing towards the bar.

Zayn dropped his hands and stared at Liam for a moment, before he started walking towards the tube. 

“Even if it didn’t raise my number, I can’t afford to waste time on…that.” Zayn huffed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

He could hear Liam cackling from ten feet behind him, and he stopped to turn on his heel, glaring at the brunette who was now holding his belly as he laughed, head tilted up to the sky.

“So that’s what this is about!” Liam giggled, practically skipping towards Zayn. “You don’t want to raise your number! Am I right?”

“That’s…part of it.” Zayn sighed, his cheeks warming. “Don’t you fuckin’ tease me about it, either.”

Liam raised his hands in surrender, falling into step with Zayn as they made their way to the tube. They fell silent, the gears in Zayn’s head working overtime. He could still go through with one or two more – there was no harm in that – and if it didn’t yield the right results, he could call it a day and research what it took to become a nun.

“So, this is why you won’t sleep with me.” Liam grinned as they made their way down the steps to the station. 

Zayn rolled his eyes and fished out his pass. “No, there are plenty of reasons for why I wouldn’t sleep with you, mate.”

“No there’s not.” Liam laughed, seemingly unfazed by Zayn’s grumpiness. “But it’s fine. Just know you’re missing out…”

Liam kept up his light teasing the entire tube ride home, which alleviated some of the anxiety that had settled in Zayn’s chest. It wasn’t that Liam wasn’t attractive – it was that Zayn had dated tons of men like Liam before, and it always ended the same way: heartache.

Zayn wasn’t perfect, either. He’d slept with a lot of people, and that was sometimes a turn off for potential suitors. Who would want to be with someone who’d slept with fourteen or more? He wrinkled his nose slightly. He wanted to be the type of boyfriend that his significant other could take home to his parents, and be loved. 

Not another one night stand that left a sour taste in your mouth and your bedroom smelling like shame.

“I’m actually meeting up with some friends at a pub about 2 blocks from the apartment – you’re more than welcome to join us, if you want.” Liam nudged him as their stop came up.

“Nah, it’s alright mate – got work in the morning anyway.” Zayn replied, waiting for the doors to open. “Big project due this week for a client. Thanks, though…”

Liam shrugged, clapping Zayn on the back. “Your loss, bro.”

They parted ways at the entrance to the station, with Liam promising to send him some more leads about his other exes, and Zayn dragged himself up to his apartment, pushing aside all thoughts of relationships and love as he pulled off his clothes to fall into bed.

\-- 

Zayn’s alarm went off sometime around 6 AM, and he stirred awake, his hand grasping blindly for his phone to turn it off. This was going to be a long week of work, but he was looking forward to it: it got his mind off personal life for a bit, and he knew the rewards were going to be epic if all went to plan.

He rolled himself out of bed, stretching his body out slowly with a soft groan, before dropping his hands. He turned slightly towards his living room, and let out a shrill scream as he noticed someone sleeping on his couch.

“The fuck!” He gasped, one hand over his heart. “Liam, what the fuck are you doing in here? On my couch?”

Liam was cuddling one of his pillows, still fully dressed in the clothes he wore last night– minus his shoes.

“Waiting for…Joel? No…Jake. Waiting for Jake to leave.” He mumbled into the pillow. “Stop being so loud this early in the morning.”

“You…you fucking hooked up with someone last night after I left you?”

“Hooking up sounds so awful when you say it.” Liam whined. “We shared a lovely romantic evening together, and then I told him I had an early doctor’s appointment and I am hiding on your couch until he gets up and goes to work.”

Zayn gaped at him, before shaking his head. “I’m being punished.” He muttered lowly, before adding so Liam could hear him – “Maybe you can use this down time to do some actual work, otherwise I am revoking your apartment privileges.”

“You wouldn’t.” Liam gasped.

“Try me, you little shit.” Zayn called as he stumbled into his bathroom to get ready for work. “Or I’ll bring the wrath of Hades upon you…"


End file.
